


The faintest scent of a cactus flower

by Bookish_penguin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humour (I hope), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Wings, no plants were harmed in the process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookish_penguin/pseuds/Bookish_penguin
Summary: Aziraphale is a troll, and Crowley adopts way too many succulents (that he can’t yell at). A plant revolution ensues. They nearly succeed if not for the divine wrath of an angel, and Crowley is reminded time and time again why he fell (in deep, deep love) in the first place.





	The faintest scent of a cactus flower

The ducks in St James’ park learned to recognise a certain angel in a beige coat, for whenever he was here there was sure to be gentle pats on the heads and lots and lots of bread. They gathered expectantly about his feet now, flying up to the bench, pecking curiously at a delicately wrapped box that rested on his lap. 

“No, no,” Aziraphale lightly shooed them away. “I’m afraid this is a very important gift, and it’s not for you!” 

The ducks watched him readjust the silver bow crowning the box. It had been perfectly straight before. One of them quacked out a warning. From the left, a man dressed entirely in black was sauntering over with a gait too unique to be mistaken for anyone else. There was something about him that was too crawly for their liking. With a ruffle of their feathers, the ducks all but fled into the pond. 

Aziraphale brightened at the sight of his friend. “Crowley,” he greeted with a delighted nod. 

The demon sank onto the bench beside him, propping one leg up casually. “Angel. What seems to be the problem?” 

“Problem? Oh, there’s no problem. I called you out here because—well—” Aziraphale cleared his throat and consciously fixed his bow tie. “I have a gift for you.” 

Crowley paused. One of his brows raised. “A gift?” 

“That’s right. Here you go.” The angel picked up the box from his lap and deposited it into Crowley’s hands hastily. Aziraphale’s lips twitched into a smile. The fingers he kept delicately laced on his knees began to thrum ever so excitedly. “Well? Open it already!” 

Crowley would rather die than to let a shred of anticipation show up on his face, so he kept his features as smooth as ever as he undid the bow. Next came off the lid, and... 

“It’s a succulent!” Aziraphale cooed, clasping his hands together with the delight of a child on Christmas. “Do you like it? The plants in your house are so lovely, I thought it wouldn’t hurt if you had a few more! You’re so good with them after all—this little bugger here will make such a wonderful addition, don’t you suppose?” 

Crowley stared at the tiny potted cactus inside the box with horror. It was just a wee little thing, with a plump little stem and young, furry needles, yet bold enough to wear just a small purple flower on top. What would the plants in his flat make of this? It was the equivalent of bringing an impressionable, starry eyed puppy home to his den of snarling, all whipped-to-discipline hell hounds. And not just any puppy. A puppy from _Aziraphale_. There was no way in heaven he could ever mistreat it! 

He shook his head helplessly. “I can’t.” 

“You can’t what?” echoed Aziraphale. He gasped quietly, biting his finger. “You don’t like it.” 

All the alarm bells went off his mind. Crowley whirled to his side immediately, holding up his hands. “No, no, of course I like it! I love it!” He scooped the cactus up and pressed it against his cheek for good measure. “Look, we’re bonding!” 

The angel beamed immediately. “Oh, look at you and James!” 

“...James?” 

Aziraphale made a strange face, one that was hard to decipher. “No, guess not. Too ordinary. Now, I must be off! Can’t miss the opening hours of my bookshop. Goodbye my dear.” 

Crowley murmured under his breath, shaking his hand dismissively and yet utterly sincerely at the same time. He waited till Aziraphale had stalked a few meters away before calling, “Hey Angel?” 

“Yes, Crowley?” 

“Thank you,” he muttered, threading a hand roughly through his hair. There was an offending warmth to his cheeks that he hated oh so terribly. But he was long used to this by now. Six thousand years, and this infuriating burning had never became any less embarrassing. “For the gift...or whatever.” 

Aziraphale’s answering smile only made him wish he never bothered to thank him. 

———— 

Right outside his door, Crowley looked back at the cactus child safely hidden in the confines of the velvet box. 

“Listen up,” he said sternly. “Once we’re in there, not a sound. Not even a pip, you got that?” 

He snapped his fingers, and instantly the double doors of his apartment swung fully open. There was his throne by the dining table, and further down the hallway, he thought he had unmistakably seen the tip of a green leaf trying to peer out from a wall. But the very moment he spotted it, the trace of green vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Only a faint shiver lingered in the air. 

Damn it! Did they know? Can plants smell other plants? Is that how it is? The moment his plants found out that he was giving special treatment to one of their own, that would be the end of his reign of terror. The aftermath was unthinkable. What if one of his plants—hisplants—dared to disobey? He would not stand for such treachery! 

The cactus child in the box seemed to gaze up at him adoringly. Dang it! 

“You’re lucky you have Aziraphale’s face!” Crowley hissed under his breath. Storming to his bedroom, he very gently scooped the cactus out from the present box and set it down upon the nightstand. It was very happy where it was. He wasn’t sure if that irritated or pleased him. 

“Don’t you start thinking I’ll cut you some slack,” he told the cactus seriously. “Because you too are a plant, _my_ plant, and you. Have. To. Grow. Better.” 

The cactus flinched. 

“No rush of course,” added Crowley as an afterthought. “Aziraphale would want you to have a nice, lovely time here. But only Aziraphale. I am _not_ going to let any spots slide.” 

The cactus relaxed slightly. It returned to being very happy where it was. Crowley sighed. Now that the child was settled, it was time to tend to the usual inhabitants of his house. He swiped the spray-bottle off his desk on the way out and entered the room housing all his plants, immediately scanning all the greenery for any signs of suspicious activity. 

What Crowley didn’t know was that he had cultivated a certain fearless breed of plant, one that even feared no god. What they did fear was Crowley himself, but after all this time spent under the rule of their frightful master they had learned to cope with it. This included hiding all signs of unease as Crowley did his routine inspection of their leaves while sprinkling mist onto them. 

Outside, they were all loyal underlings of their dark and terrifying master, but deep down they had come to an unanimous decision—there will be no rest, not until they have found out exactly who their master had been gently whispering to behind their backs. If it was the soft and smiling angel, then that was all and good, but if it were to be a _plant_...

Their leaves trembled in outrage. Crowley noticed this and raised just one inquiring brow. The plants were immediately silent again. He gave his greenery one last piercing stare before sauntering out, spray-bottle in one hand and a peace sign in the other. 

The plants hissed to each other and curled their leaves. There would be a _revolution_. 

————

Aziraphale did wonder once if this was a good idea. Well—he was already here. Besides, showing up uninvited should be one of the perks of a six-thousand year old relationship, right? 

He tried not to smile too eagerly as he rang the doorbell and hid the box behind his back. 

When the door opened, Crowley was there in a black silk nightgown and a toothbrush in his mouth, his dark glasses slightly askew. Like an unruly flame, his vivid orange hair stuck up in all directions. It was quite endearing to see. 

“Crowley,” he greeted, already smiling like an idiot. 

“Angel.” The demon leaned an arm against the threshold. 

“Well. Lovely morning today.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, adjusting his bow-tie with one hand. “May I come in?” 

“No.” 

There was a pause. 

“Kidding.” Crowley stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “You know you’re always welcome here.” 

Aziraphale did know, yes, he knew it very well. Still, it didn’t change the fact that it was always nicer to be personally invited in. For instance, waltzing straight through the door as if he owned the place would mean missing the chance to see Crowley emerge from his flat like a gremlin. A nightgown clad gremlin. 

“Thank you, my dear. I come graced with gifts. A bottle of 1996 _Château Cheval Blanc_...” 

Crowley took the bottle from him and offered it a brief look of appreciation. He then popped the crimson cap open and chugged it straight like morning coffee. 

“ _And_ , you won’t guess what this is.” 

Aziraphale held up his gift smugly. Crowley spat out a mouthful of very expensive wine. 

A chill shot down his spine. It became suddenly, glaringly evident that his plants were watching them very intently from behind his back. With the haste of an agent about to have his cover blown, he snatched hold Aziraphale’s shoulders and shoved him into the nearest dark corridor he could find. 

Then the angel’s back happened to meet a wall. Aziraphale blinked up at him with half-lidded eyes, each a slice of the midday sky itself. In the sudden pervasive darkness those eyes seemed to glow with a soft, arctic blue light, like sunlight shining through the heart of the bluest glaciers. 

Crowley heard blood rushing in his ears. 

“Dear boy...” The words snaked through Aziraphale’s teeth, curling thickly around his lips. His hand wandered up the front of Crowley’s nightgown, doing up the button of his collar that had come undone in their mad dash into the corridor. Crowley felt his palms start to sweat. “Might you have an idea of what I have in store for you...?” 

“I um—” His head was spinning too much, not just from the wine. He should’ve had some more so he could be knocked out flat unconscious right now. Not that he wouldn’t soon, at the rate that the angel was going. What’s up with him, anyway? _He_ was the one who complained about going too fast, for heaven’s sake!

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled like cold diamonds. The hand he had on Crowley’s collar now wound round the back of his neck, and held him there. 

Crowley was going to have a heart attack. 

“Hey, um— _um_ Aziraphale? What’re—what’re you—” He trembled.

“Cactus.” 

“H—huh?” 

“Cactus!” Aziraphale suddenly cooed, bringing the offending plant up between them. All coherent thought vaporised from Crowley’s mind. In his slightly delirious state now he could only stare at the angel with a mixture of incredulity and awe. 

He must have noticed. Aziraphale hid a smirk behind his hand, chuckling ever so softly. The smile reached his eyes and set off in them a blinding, dazzling light like cerulean fireworks against a night sky. “Something wrong, my dear?” 

Crowley had to grin back. Oh, this bastard. He was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, in a pure Aziraphale-ish fashion that no one else could mimic and Crowley himself loved to death. 

“We were talking about the cactus...?” Aziraphale delicately guided. 

Right. The cactus. Crowley had forgotten completely about the damn thing. It was no coincidence that his headache returned in that instant. 

“Bah. Toss it out of the window.” He huffed and stalked off. 

Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale was right behind his heels. “You wouldn’t! Not to Janthony.” 

“Janthony? What the heaven is that?” 

Aziraphale halted in his tracks suddenly. There was a small furrow between his brows. “I suppose that wasn’t it either...intriguing. Well! Since he’s already here, you must take him into the family—”

He explained with great care to the angel, “We _aren’t_ a family. The plants are my underlings, and I am their king. Hence the throne.” 

Aziraphale looked towards the gold throne by the dining table, sticking out like a sore thumb in all its flashy gold and crimson amidst the dull greys and blacks of the rest of the apartment. 

“Oh yes, it’s very lovely,” he complimented. 

Crowley paused in surprise. “It is?” 

“But you know what’s lovelier?” Aziraphale nodded as if in affirmation. “You are.” 

“I am?” he echoed blankly. The ground beneath his feet was swaying just a little. 

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale took his hands, smiling angelically. They were oh so warm and impossibly soft, just like the clouds up there basking in the light of heaven. It became incredibly hard even to put two and two together in Crowley’s mind. “You’ll take Janthony, won’t you?” 

When Aziraphale pulled away, there was a plump potted cactus left cupped between Crowley’s palms. The nerve of him! Crowley was beginning to doubt who exactly was supposed to be the demon here. 

“Fine, fine!” he hissed. “But this is the last time, I’m telling you!’ 

Aziraphale’s lips curled into an endearing smile. Before Crowley could even react, there was already a hand on his arm and a quick peck on his cheek. “Thank you, dear boy.” 

Crowley cursed, complaining loudly about how repulsive the angel’s lovey-dovey acts were. Nevertheless, the thought of moving away didn’t even manage to cross his mind, and there was just a slight pink to his cheeks that was not there before. Not that he’d ever admit it of course. Aziraphale, knowing and enjoying this spectacle very much, hid another smile behind the palm of his hand. 

————

“Crowley. May I introduce you to someone?”

That was an odd request. “Who?” 

“Why, Johnathan of course. Charming fellow, bit quiet, gorgeous complexion. Also—” 

“Aziraphale.” 

“—A cactus.” 

“ _Aziraphale_.” Crowley smacked his face, perhaps contributing to the loudest face-palm of the century. 

————

By the end of the week, Crowley’s bedroom was just about being overrun by succulents. Cacti of all height and width, some as green as emeralds, others the shade of cool mint and adorned all over by fluff or needles. It was fine. All peachy. He just had to occasionally wake up with a hand slamming the head of a cactus instead of his alarm clock. Or him stretching his wings out just a little too far enough to catch a bunch of needles between his feathers. Despite all of these...misfortunes, he had to admit the company was nice. Aziraphale’s cacti shared the same angelic temperament as the angel himself. When surrounded by them on the nightly, Crowley could dream of Aziraphale’s gentle smiles and have his heart pang a little less. 

It was still a secret from the rest of his plants, for a perfectly obvious reason. If any one of them knew of a living entity in his house that reeked of special treatment, there would be war, and a bloody one at that. And Crowley was proud of that. He did love his plants, albeit in a yelling, condemning, bloodcurdling sort of way. Tough love, as they call it. 

Still, he never managed to raise his voice at the cacti sharing his bedroom. It was all Aziraphale’s fault for making him soft. That, and the nauseatingly adorable cacti he had so kindly given him. Come to think of it, they had names. Perhaps it was already strange to name plants, but stranger still, _all_ of them began with ‘J’. Crowley felt as if he was being left out on some big joke here, yet he couldn’t figure it out to save his life. 

“Janthony, what do you think?” he mused aloud. 

The cactus was silent. 

“Jerry, Jacob, Johnathan, James, Jenga, Juice and Jam. Any ideas?” 

Nothing. Not even a squeak. 

Crowley sat up from his bed and peered at them. “You’re strangely quiet.” 

There came a telling rasp from his open door and a rustle of leaves that told him just what this might be about. But it was already too late. 

“Ah shit,” said Crowley, just as a vine shot forward and strained tight against his ankle. In one fluid motion, it yanked hard and all but dragged him out of the room feet-first. 

———— 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale rasped lightly upon his door. For the first time in days, he had come entirely cactus-free. No doubt an exhilarating couple of days, but it was about time he stopped keeping his poor friend in the dark, not to mention flooded with cacti too. “I have to come clean to you about something...” 

He faltered. There were noises coming from the other side of the door. He knew Crowley—he’d only either have his house decimated by deafening bebop set to max volume or total, pin-drop silence. Never anything in between. Noises indicated Crowley had company. What if the demons had found him? Or even worse—Aziraphale dreaded the very notion of it—what if Crowley was fraternising with ‘ _other people_ ’, exactly like how he had threatened? 

Either way, Aziraphale was going to be very, very upset. 

“Angel—Aziraphale! Is that you?” Crowley sounded panicked. 

“Crowley?” His heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong here. With a snap of his fingers his flaming sword materialised and he snatched it out of the air with a firm grip. “Whoever’s in there with you...I’m coming in!” 

“No no no don’t come in! Do _NOT_ come in!” 

Aziraphale kicked the door open. At the sight of the apartment he could scarcely believe his eyes. “What the _hell_ is going on here?” 

“Oh this is HUMILIATING!” Crowley screeched. He was fully upside-down, glasses askew and arms flailing uselessly in mid-air as he dangled from the vine of a monstrously huge plant that had somehow gained full sentience and an even stronger bloodlust. 

Aziraphale grimaced and brandished his sword. Responding to the sudden surge of power in his veins, white wings unfurled from his back and tensed like that of a falcon about to take off. His blue eyes blazed with a harsh, divine light. “Unhand Crowley this instant, foul creatures!” 

The plants flinched as if Aziraphale’s words had scalded them worse than the flames of heaven and hell combined. But they had gotten too far to back down this easily. They shall stand their ground and fight to their last shuddering breath, even if it meant disobeying the words of their sweetest and most beloved angel. 

Vines whipped and snapped in all directions—shattering windows, tossing aside furniture, tearing the paint off the walls. Crowley was shook like a rag-doll left and right, and even while swearing passionately and turning green he was only concerned about keeping those stupid shades on his stupid face. 

Aziraphale’s wings spread. 

“No!” Crowley’s yell froze him in place. “Don’t hurt them! They’re just—ah!—Throwing—a—woah!—Tantrum, that’s all!” 

“What was that?” Aziraphale veered away from a vine swinging past to punch a hole in the opposing wall behind. Wood splintered and flew everywhere. Oh dear. “I can’t hear you over the sound of you being all flung about!” 

“I said—oh _whatever_!” Crowley swore irately. “Give them a good whopping, angel!” 

Aziraphale’s hand instinctively tightened on the hilt of his sword. He had been a soldier once, and the body remembers what the mind has long forgotten. It had been practically hardwired in him to follow orders as they were given, kill when needed and deliver the vengeance that was commanded, but one look at Crowley’s face and the pain in his eyes and Aziraphale was suddenly grounded in the reality known as the present. He was here now. No longer a messenger of another’s words or a blade to enact the wrath of another. He could take the clear blacks and whites of the past and now smooth them into a perfectly seamless grey, in which there are always other twists and turns from the single conceivable path before you, that led to futures far greater than the one that has been thought for you. 

His wings launched him easily into the air. With a single cleave of his blade, a line of fire sliced across the room and through everything in its path. Useless, twitching vines fell limp onto the floor, and Crowley yelped when he abruptly found himself free-falling. It was a frighteningly familiar sensation. The blankness in his mind, the wind in his ears, and his useless, flailing hands stretched out skywards before him. In his panic his wings had burst from his back. Feathers tore loose at the sudden ripping motion. Instead of a trail of white that had accompanied his first Fall, ash-black feathers now drifted across the space before his eyes; a vivid reminder that things were very, very different now. 

After the Fall, he had woken up broken and alone with no one to hear his cries. 

But that wasn’t the case any more, was it?

A pair of arms caught him. They were soft but surprisingly firm, such that he still felt as if he was wrapped in velvet even though Aziraphale was nearly crushing him against his chest. Crowley could only gaze up dazedly. The flaring reds and oranges of the sunset beyond the window cast against the angel’s back and left his profile enveloped in a soft pastel shadow. This brought out the soft glow of his mint-blue eyes, which Crowley highly suspected was the exact shade he remembered heaven’s sky to be. Gentle. Kind. The feeling of coming home. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale blinked slowly. 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s quite lovely when you blush.” 

The heat practically whistled from his ears in jets of fuming steam. “Shut up! Bl—blushing? I’m a demon, _the_ serpent of Eden, I don’t _blush_! Anyway—what did you do to my plants, you ruthless angel?” 

“Nothing.” Aziraphale turned on the spot to show the aftermath of his house. Crowley flinched a little at the sight of severed vines and leaves littered everywhere, but it was more shocking to see that all his plants were still intact. After having all of their monstrous bits cut off, they were back to their normal-looking selves, with immaculate shining leaves and neat, short stems. “Just gave them a much needed trim, that’s all. You don’t mind, do you my dear? It’s just—you told me to give them ‘a good whopping’, but the look in your eyes heavily suggested otherwise. I couldn’t hurt them. Not without hurting you too, and I never want to do that.” 

Crowley couldn’t take it anymore. More aware of the hot flush in his face than ever, he turned into a snake in Aziraphale’s hands and clumsily thudded onto the floor. 

“Crowley. Crowley! Where are you going?” Aziraphale dropped to his knees helplessly. “Was it something I said?” 

The black serpent was already slithering away in great haste. It made a direct beeline to the darkness beneath the couch and did not emerge for another good hour or two. 

————

“So you’re telling me, it was all a joke?” 

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. They were back in St James’ park, a quiet afternoon with few ducks and even fewer people. “I intended it to be, yes. But I _am_ glad you liked the gifts, Crowley. I really am. Why, if I had known cacti could make you so happy, I would’ve gotten you more of them!” 

Crowley lifted a hand. “Not necessary, thank you. But why? Feeling a little devilish, are we Angel? Fancy trying a couple of temptations next?” 

Aziraphale mimicked his coy tone, “Not necessary, thank you. If you must know, I really really really _really_ wanted to...well...” 

The demon raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale huffed with a partial roll of his eyes. “I wanted to know what the J in your name stood for.” 

Crowley snorted, then barked a laugh, and then—Aziraphale watched this with utter surprise—the demon erupted into full-blown laughter. Soon he was chuckling himself, an impossible warmth radiating from the centre of his chest, making his blood sing in a way it never did with anyone else. 

“Angel you—” Crowley’s glasses had slipped an inch down his nose. Gold eyes peered out at him, harbouring a light far brighter than the stars the archangels had helped to shape. Aziraphale at once stared at them, mesmerised, and could no longer look away. “—You never cease to amaze me.” 

He had to draw back with a sharp intake of breath. Heat seized hold of his cheeks then, and looked away from Crowley’s inquiring gaze with a delicate cough. 

“But seriously though. What _does_ the J in your name stand for?” 

Crowley deadpanned immediately. His lips shaped into a wry grimace, and he shrugged perhaps the most nonchalant shrug in the world, “Ehh. It’s just a J, really.” 

“Liar,” Aziraphale murmured. “It’s Janthony, isn’t it?” 

“Is _not_.” 

“Then what in heaven’s name is it? Julian? Jacob? Jade? _Jessie_?” 

Crowley stared at him witheringly. His form began to flicker and slim into a slender creature, black scales overlapping upon skin. Aziraphale poked the serpent’s side in annoyance. 

“Stop turning into a snake whenever you want to avoid the conversation!” He admonished. “Crowley. Crowley! Get back here!” 

Too late. He was already slithering away. Irresponsibility saved the day once again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve wanted to make an AO3 account for the longest time but never had anything good to contribute, so I decided to put in a little effort to make a little something for a show that I’ve been obsessing way too hard over for the last few weeks. So hooray for the first fic I’ve written in years and for this account !! owo
> 
> Kudos and comments will be appreciated! I’d love to hear anything ( ´▽` )ﾉ 
> 
> Will write more fics soon hopefully, if my motivation permits...


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